Legally Addicted (18 page)

‘Georgia, wait, what are you doing? Let’s discuss this.’

From the change in direction and volume of Brad’s voice, which was now coming from higher up, she could tell he had stood up out of the lounger and was walking towards her.

‘What is there to discuss? You know what this project means to me. You can do something to help, but you’ve categorically stated that you won’t.’

She jabbed at the button for the lift without turning around to look at him.

Brad was beside her now, visible in her peripheral vision.

‘Georgia, stop, we have to talk about this.’

She said nothing. What was there to say? He had made his position very clear. More talking wouldn’t change that, and the more they talked the more likely it would be that she would end up admitting why she had got involved with him in the first place and that when it boiled down to it, Caro was right. She was after his money.

The lift doors finally parted and she stepped inside. Brad’s voice rose to a shout to make sure she heard.

‘If you leave, Georgia, if you walk out on me again, then that’s it. This thing — it’s over between us.’

Once she heard the lift doors close behind her she turned around, pushed the emergency stop, and changed back into her clothes. Then she released the brake, pressing the button for the hotel foyer. On the ground floor she exited the lift, thrusting the damp towel into an open mouthed bellboy’s hands before running out into the street.

Chapter Twelve

Brad let Georgia go. He had no intention of being the one to smooth things over. Not this time. Instead, he collapsed back down into the lounger and took the top off another beer.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was the continual trickle of requests for money that the Spencer family wealth attracted. The stories were invariably sad and, if true and not some scam, were likely worthy causes, but there was something about direct appeals for money that he had always found distasteful.

His father was self-made, from nothing. No-one had given him a hand-out, and once he became wealthy he didn’t give out something for nothing either, and Brad saw no reason to change the family policy on that.

Instead, his mother had set up the Spencer Charitable Trust to deal with all of that. Trust staff investigated each request to ensure it was genuine, and then it was assessed against criteria established when the trust was founded. Each appeal for money was then ranked. The amount of interest that had been earned on the trust assets each year determined the total amount that could be distributed. A threshold was drawn across the list of ranked requests at the level where the funds ran out. Those above it were funded and those below it were not. It was all very simple and clear cut. That way, the Spencers were never faced with the agonising choice between funding a lifesaving operation for one person, versus funding a prevention program that might save thousands.

Georgia had crossed the line asking him to intervene to subvert the trust processes. Worse than that, she had run out on him.

One time too many.

And just when he had thought they were starting to get somewhere.

He was monumentally pissed off, and pretty soon he would be monumentally pissed.

That’s what beer was for, and as usual Jeffrey had anticipated his every need by making sure that there was plenty of it.

He drained his stubbie and kept working on the ice bucket until he had dealt with each bottle, falling asleep where he lay in the lounger.

The squawking of crows and cockatoos from Sydney’s adjacent botanic gardens woke him as the sun came up. A feather doona had been laid out over him and a pillow had found its way under his head. From the warmth inside the atrium it seemed that Jeffrey had also ensured the heating stayed on all night. His papers had been returned to his briefcase and beside him, on the low outdoor table, was a carafe of water and selection of headache medication.

As usual, Jeffrey was the only person he could rely on. Georgia hadn’t come back to apologise or work things out, as he thought she might have once she had cooled down. He had given her a choice and she had walked out on him for the last time.

And what the hell had he been thinking, anyway? Georgia was no different to all the other women. In the end, just like them, she wanted something. A very big something — three million bucks of something.

As much as he hated to admit it, Georgia had only wanted him for what she could do for her.

When would he ever learn?

He poured a glass of water and, squinting against the pain, took two aspirin, then pulled out his mobile. First he called his secretary to let her know he would be in later than usual, and then he called Dayton.

‘John, have you signed that dissolution of partnership agreement?’

John hesitated. ‘I have, but I haven’t passed it on to Llewellyn yet. Why, what are you thinking, Bradley?’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Does this mean…?’

‘That’s right — as of now, there’s nothing going on between me and Georgia, so there’s no reason for me to leave the firm for her peace of mind. I’m staying put. If she doesn’t like it, then she knows what she can do.’

‘Roger and I would be very sorry to lose you from the partnership, Brad. Of course Georgia’s excellent, but she doesn’t have the same pulling power when it comes to the star clients, so I know I speak for both of us when I say that we’re more than happy to forget the dissolution of the partnership.’

‘Thanks, John. I appreciate it.’

‘What do you think Georgia will do?’

‘What she does is up to her, but my guess is that her career is far too important for her to leave. I’ll have no problem keeping it professional.’

‘I see. Well, I must say I’m relieved to hear that.’

Brad switched off his mobile before Dayton could say anything else. The last thing he needed right now was a post-mortem about what had happened between them.

He was about to struggle up out of the lounger when Jeffrey appeared with a tray of breakfast. He gulped down half a cup of coffee then grabbed a piece of the toast to eat en route to the shower. If he hurried, he could still get into the office and make his morning appointments.

‘Anything I can do, sir?’ Jeffrey said, as Brad stopped halfway out of the outdoor chaise, stooped over, his stiff joints refusing to straighten out.

Brad thought for a moment.

‘Get me a list of every eligible female rich-lister under forty. I’ve got to find a date for this bloody gala now, preferably someone with her own money.’

‘Oh dear. I am sorry, sir, I had rather thought this last woman was different.’

‘So did I, Jeffrey. So did I.’

Georgia leaned down and bumped her head against her desk a couple of times.

‘You did it, didn’t you?’ Miriam asked, placing a stack of files in her in-tray.

‘What?’

‘You asked Brad for the money, didn’t you?’

Georgia didn’t answer, bumping her forehead a third time like a talisman, as if self-flagellation would somehow bring the situation to rights.

‘Sort of — damn it — yes.’

‘Georgia! I warned you.’

‘I know, I know. You warned me, and now I have no chance with this addiction centre proposal. If it even gets on the shelter board agenda, Caro Marsden will shoot it down, and without support from Brad the idea will be more extinct than the Tasmanian tiger.’

‘Oh well. At least you still have Brad.’

She shook her head.

‘It’s over.’

‘Oh, Georgia. I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be. At least now I don’t have to go to that stupid shelter fundraiser. I think Brad would have been expecting me to go as his date.’

‘Let me guess, after work you’re planning to go home, change straight into your jammies, eat takeaway food, followed by a tub of ice-cream, all sitting in front of trash TV.’

Miriam’s many talents had suddenly expanded to include the art of clairvoyance. That was pretty much exactly what Georgia had in mind for her evening.

‘Possibly.’

‘Or you could go by your gorgeous self, flirt your arse off and make Brad Spencer jealous as hell.’

‘But I haven’t got anything to wear.’

‘Says the woman who uses her secretary as her personal stylist. Come on, grab your coat and your plastic, and we’ll go find something.’

Eight hours later Georgia was standing in the kitchen at the gala dinner as Caro Marsden thrust a server’s apron at her, the money Miriam had convinced her to spend at Castlereagh’s now completely wasted under a cotton full-length grocer style apron.

‘Thank you so much, Georgia. When one of the servers let me down I didn’t know what to do, but when Brad arrived with Paris Walsh on his arm, I realised you must have come on your own and wouldn’t mind helping out.’

Bee-atch.

Why had she agreed to this? Right now jammies, ice-cream and trash TV had never looked so good.

So, Brad hadn’t wasted any time, and he was fishing back in familiar waters. Well, good. He should stick to his own species. He had no business going downtown if he couldn’t cope with what he found there, or exploded at the simple suggestion he should increase the charity he directed to the less fortunate. She had been beginning to think he was different from all the other rich hypocrites she had ever encountered. Luckily she found out the truth before it was too late.

‘I’ll put you on table eight,’ Caro said.

Georgia fully expected table eight to be Brad’s table, her life was going that well. Being forced to serve Brad and his date would just top everything off, but by some miracle, a loophole in Murphy’s Law had opened up and she was assigned to another table further back. She kept her eyes firmly on the party she had been assigned and avoided looking around.

Instead, she concentrated on what she had to do, making sure everyone at her table got the correct meal and that the glasses were topped up. She was so caught up in her serving duties that she didn’t have time to stop to listen to the speeches between courses, but as she took a plate of profiteroles from the tray she was carrying, ready to set it down in front of a guest for dessert, she heard her name.

‘Georgia, yes — that’s right, you, Georgia.’

The spotlight that had been on Caro, who was playing mistress of ceremonies up on the stage, skittered across the room and alighted on Georgia. For once she couldn’t control her facial expression. Her mouth gawped with mortification, and the audience laughed. Over two hundred sniggers, all in unison, all directed at her. It was like the nightmare of her childhood writ large, playing on the big screen. Georgia wanted to run and hide, throwing herself under one of the tables, but the spotlight somehow had her rooted to where she was standing.

Caro beamed into the audience. A graceful saltwater croc with her eye on its prey, she continued speaking.

‘And now I’d like to call Georgia Murray, one of our fabulous volunteers and a former resident of the shelter, to speak to you all about her firsthand experiences of the marvellous facility you’re all here to support.’

Georgia almost dropped the tray of remaining dishes she was carrying, barely managing to thrust it into another server’s hands before the whole thing crashed to the ground. Despite releasing the burden, she still couldn’t move. Fury coursed up through her, exploding in a hundred shades of vermillion as she discovered the saying ‘to see red’ actually had some basis in fact.

Then the spotlight that had been engulfing her moved across the room, and without thinking she followed it. Before she even realised she had flung off her apron, she was halfway to the stage. And within seconds she was standing at the top of the steps beside the lectern. By the time she found herself leaning into the microphone she hadn’t even considered what she was going to say. Still furious, she opened her mouth and words tumbled out of their own accord.

‘You want me to tell you how it was, using the shelter facilities, Caro? I’ll tell you alright.’

The audience gasped, reacting to the hostility of her tone, and Georgia had the satisfaction of seeing the spotlight hurtle across the stage and fix on Caro who, having relinquished the lectern to Georgia to stand off to the side of the stage, now looked more like a possum caught in headlights. The spotlight illuminated the shock on Caro’s face as Georgia prepared to attack.

She had been holding back, but not anymore. Caro was going to get it with both barrels, and if that was in front of over two hundred dinner guests, then she only had herself to blame. A backlog of words: hypocritical, mean-spirited, self-serving, evil female canine specimen, all jostled for position to be the first to leave her mouth, providing sufficient pause for Brad to step out of the darkness and seize the microphone from her.

Everyone in the audience took a simultaneous breath, creating a multi-layered swooshing sound, and any remaining chatter ceased as everyone redirected their attention towards Brad.

Brad gently tapped the microphone.

‘Very few of us could lay claim to the grit and determination shown by Georgia Murray, and yes it’s true, as a child Georgia was, through no fault of her own, a sometime resident of the Dockton Women’s Shelter, but she is now a highly successful family lawyer and partner at Dayton Llewellyn Murray and Spencer.’

Brad’s emphasis on the ‘Murray’ prompted the crowd to erupt into spontaneous applause, drowning out his own surname in the partnership line-up. Gesturing downwards with his hands Brad quietened the crowd enough to continue, ‘But Georgia is not one to dwell on her past, and what she is really here to do tonight is to announce the launch of an appeal to fund an addiction centre that will address the cause of why so many of the women use the shelter in the first place. In a minute, I’ll hand over to Georgia to give you a summary of the research into these types of centres, what makes them effective, and why we think one is right for Dockton. But before I do, I want to announce sponsorship by the Spencer Charitable Trust to the tune of — well — that’s entirely up to you ladies and gentlemen, because the Trust will match every donation, dollar for dollar, achieved by her tonight. Georgia…’ He handed her the microphone and stepped back.